In the second novel of Maya Rodale’s
enchanting Keeping Up with the Cavendishes series, an American heiress finds
her reputation—and heart—in danger when she travels to London and meets a
wickedly tempting rake

Terribly
Improper

Lady
Amelia is fed up with being a proper lady and wishes to explore London, so one
night she escapes . . . and finds herself in the company of one Alistair
Finlay-Jones. He’s been ordered by his uncle to wed one of the American girls.
How lucky, then, that one of them stumbles right into his arms!

Totally
Scandalous

Alistair
and Amelia have one perfect day to explore London, from Astley’s Amphitheater
to Vauxhall Gardens. Inevitably they end up falling in love and making love. If
anyone finds out, she will be ruined, but he will win everything he’s ever
wanted.

Very
Romantic

When
Amelia finds out Alistair has been ordered to marry her, he must woo her and
win back the angry American girl. But with the threat of scandals, plural,
looming . . . will he ever catch up to the woman he loves?

“Ah, Lady Nansen. Lord Nansen!” The duchess
and her charges paused before a couple that looked just like all the others
Amelia had been introduced to: they were of an indeterminate middle age, decked
in an array of brightly colored silks and satins, and honestly, a bit jowly and
gray.

“I
haven’t yet introduced you to my nephew and nieces.”

“And
we have been dying to make their acquaintance,” Lady Nansen said, fanning
herself furiously. “The ton has spoken of nothing else.”

The
duchess performed the introductions. Upon meeting James, the new duke, fawning
ensued.

Everyone
fawned over James these days—but then when his back was turned they whispered
about how his father was a horse thief and that James had been raised in the
stables and how tragic it was that Durham was now in his hands.

“And
Lady Claire.”

Amelia
watched as they took in Claire’s spectacles and her distracted, impatient
demeanor. She had not mastered the slightly
vacant look of a simpering miss and with a brain as sharp as hers, never would.
Amelia watched as Lady Nansen decided that Claire would never be an
“incomparable,” or whatever they called the popular girls of the ton, and
flitted her attention to the next sister.

Bridget actually
cared about fitting in here. She was obsessed with learning and following the
rules.

“And
Lady Amelia.” She gave a smile somewhere between gargoyle and simpering miss,
but perhaps more on the gargoyle side of the spectrum.

“You
must have your hands full, Duchess, trying to make so many matches.”

“It does give one something to do all
day,” the duchess replied, with a tight-lipped smile that

Amelia dubbed the One
Where I Am Smiling Even Though I Hate What You Just Said. “But I do have every
confidence that they will make splendid matches. In fact, I have someone
special in mind for Lady Amelia this evening.”

The
duchess beamed at her charges, as if they hadn’t been foiling her every effort
to marry them off. Amelia began to dread meeting “someone special.”

“I
say, Duke,” Lord Nonesuch or whatever began, “do you have an opinion on any of
the horses running Ascot?”

The
lords always asked James for his opinion on which horse would win a race, so
they might win a wager. And then they turned around and made snide remarks
about his experience raising and training horses—as if he were beneath them
because of this knowledge. Even though he now outranked them.

“I
do,” James said, smiling easily.

“Don’t
suppose you’d tell a friend who you think will be the winner?” Lord Nansen or
Nancy said jovially, with a wink and a nudge.

“I
might,” James replied.

This
was a conversation he’d had before and Amelia had begged him to do something
nefarious, like deliberately suggest a losing horse. But James refused and just
smiled like he knew the winner and never said a word.

“Nansen,
he doesn’t have time for horses,” his wife said in that exasperated way of
wives. “He must find a bride first.”

The
duchess beamed, an I-told-you-so smile.

Then
Lady Nansen turned and fixed her attentions on Amelia. Her fan was beating at a
furious pace.

“And
Lady Amelia, have you found any suitors you care for?”

“After
having met nearly all of England’s finest young gentlemen, I can honestly say
that no, I have not found any suitors that I could care for,” Amelia said. “But
I do have a new appreciation for spinsterhood. In fact, I think it sounds like
just the thing.”

Just
the thing was a bit of slang she had picked up. Sticking forks in her eye
was just the thing (but only with the good silver!).
Flustering old matrons with an honest and direct statement was just
the thing.

Lady
Nansen stared at her a moment, blinking rapidly as she tried to process what
Amelia had just said.

“Well
your sister seems to have snared the attentions of Darcy’s younger brother,” she
said, evidently disregarding Amelia and focusing on Bridget, the one who cared
about fitting in and finding suitors.

Darcy
spent the majority of every social engagement standing against the wall,
glowering at the company, refusing to dance, and begging the question of why he
even bothered to attend.

But
that was neither here nor there and no one deigned to reply to Amelia, so she
sighed and lamented her choice in footwear quietly to herself. When Lord and
Lady Nansen took their leave and sauntered off, the duchess turned and fixed
her cool, blue eyes on Amelia.

And
homesick. And unhappy. And dreading the future you have planned for me. And a
dozen other feelings one does not mention when one is at a ball.

“Bored?”
The duchess arched her brows. “How on earth can you be bored by all this?” She
waved her hand elegantly, to indicate everything surrounding them. “Is all the
splendor, music, and the company of the best families in the best country not
enough for you? I cannot imagine that you had such elegance and luxuries in the
provinces.”

Everyone
here still referred to her home country as the provinces, or the colonies, or
as the remote American backwater plagued by heathens, when Amelia knew that it
was a beautiful country full of forthright, spirited people. It was her true
home.

They
operated under the impression that there was no greater fun to be had than
getting overdressed and gossiping with the same old people each night, in
crowded ballrooms in a crowded city.

She
missed summer nights back home on their farm in Maryland, when she would slip
outside at night with a blanket, to look up at the vast, endless expanse of
stars.

This,
no matter what the duchess said, just did not compare.

Amelia
shrugged.

“We
already met half these people at the six other balls we have attended this
week,” she said. “The other half are crashing bores.”

Crashing
bores was a phrase Amelia had read in the gossip columns. The
violence of it appealed to her.

“I
suppose it would be too much to ask you to pretend to act like an interested
and engaging young lady.” Then, turning to Lady Bridget, the duchess said, “I
daresay she couldn’t.”

With
that, the duchess turned away.

She
turned away, leaving the words hanging in the air,
floating to the ground, just waiting for

Amelia to pounce on
them.

“Well
that was a challenge,” Claire said.

“I’m
not certain she could manage it.” Bridget sniffed.

Really?
Really?

“Is
that a dare?” Amelia asked, straightening up. Oh, she would pretend all right.
She would pretend so well they’d all be shocked. It would give her something to
do at least.

“Because I will take that dare.”

“I’d
like to see you try,” Bridget replied. Then, muttering under her breath she
added, “For once.”

Amelia
reddened. Admittedly she hadn’t been taking this whole sister-of-the-duke
business seriously. But she would show them. So instead of sticking her tongue
out and scowling at Bridget, Amelia stuck her nose right up in the air and
turned away.

Maya
Rodale began reading romance novels in college at her mother’s insistence
and it wasn’t long before she was writing her own. Maya is now the author of
multiple Regency historical romances. She lives in New York City with her
darling dog and a rogue of her own.